


The East Wind Coming

by myshockblanket (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hospitals, Mean Sherlock, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, PTSD, Post-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Protective Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:52:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/myshockblanket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna Scott is notorious for being MI6's best agent. When circumstances change and she has to move in with the famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, what will happen when their paths cross? Will they be able to live with each other, or will they become a match made in hell?</p><p>Set post his last vow :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do it for me

“And I just think it would be best if you would… Sherlock are you even listening?”

The tall brunette man looked up at his brother from his chair. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and said,

“Mm, no not particularly.”

Mycroft sighed and leaned back on the couch. He’d negotiated with many people before, but his brother was the hardest to compromise with.

“Moriarty is an ongoing threat to your safety, and as much as I hate to say it, I wouldn’t be particularly pleased if you were to get caught up in one of his schemes again. Dr Watson seemed to be a good… _room-mate_ for you but now that he’s moved in with his wife, your lack of protection is a threat to y-“

“Lack of protection?!” Sherlock scoffed, “You’ve got surveillance on me 24/7, Mycroft, and you still think I need babysitting? And anyway, none of your idiots would be able to keep up with me. It’s a waste of both mine and their time. Thanks, but no thanks for the offer; door’s that way, BYE!”

Sherlock waved a hand in the direction of the door and when there was no movement, he looked expectantly at his brother.

“It’s hardly babysitting, brother dear. I just think it would be better for you to have someone to stop you reverting to... _old habits_ , and to keep you out of trouble. I remember all too well what happened before Dr Watson came into the picture, so it’s worth a try. And anyway, Agent Scott is no idiot. Do you really think I’d blindly pick any old person to keep watch on my _beloved_ little brother?”

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft, rolled his eyes and stared back down at the pieces of paper sprawled out on the coffee table. “Puppy eyes and sentiment don’t work on me Mycroft. You should know that by now.”

Mycroft groaned. He'd have to use a different tactic. “Please, Lock, for me?”

Sherlock paused. He and his brother never used the nickname strategy unless they were really desperate.

“One week. If it all goes awry, or I turn out to hate them, they are gone by next Sunday and you leave me alone, for god’s sake.” Sherlock said. Mycroft’s face lit up like a little boy in a sweetshop.

“Excellent. I will contact your new room-mate and we will come round tomorrow morning.” He stood up and strode towards the door. “Do try and stay safe, brother dear. I do worry ever so much about you.” He said, before leaving 221B in silence.

Sherlock groaned inwardly. This was going to be a disaster. Who’d willingly be a room-mate of Sherlock Holmes? Apart from John, of course. John was an exception. But anyone else? They wouldn’t be able to stand him. It just wouldn’t work, Sherlock convinced himself over and over again.

 

Well, he had until tomorrow to prove himself right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've already written another chapter, and I've planned out chapters 3 and 4. Not entirely sure where i'm going with this fic but whatever. :)  
> See you soon! <3


	2. Exchanging Pleasantries.... Sort of.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NO! I'm sorry. I couldn't resist posting another chapter just minutes after posting the first one. But whatever, here you go.

Mycroft signalled for his driver to stop outside the fairly modernised block of flats in which Agent Scott resided in. He waited for his men to leave the car to help carry the Agent’s bags to the car before he called his brother to update him. He rang twice, with no answer. _For god’s sake Sherlock_ he thought, as he left a voicemail informing him that they would be on their way soon enough.

Just then, he heard the clunk of the boot opening and the suitcase being loaded. The door adjacent to the one which he sat beside promptly opened and a short, slight figure lowered into the seat next to him.

“Agent Scott.” He greeted the person sat beside him.

“Morning Sir. Is your brother awaiting our arrival?”

“I’ve informed him that we are on our way. Thank you for doing this for me, I know it’s a lot to ask to stay with my brother, really I don’t know how Dr Watson managed for so long.”

“No problem, I know that this was a pressing matter for you, Sir, so here I am.”

“Thank you, Agent.”

“It's the least I could do. You've done so much more for me.” The person smiled back as they pulled up outside the flat. They walked up the steps to the flat and were greeted by an over-excited Mrs Hudson.

 

                                                                                              ***********************************************

 

 

Sherlock sat up from his seat on his chair. He could hear Mycroft and Mrs Hudson conversing downstairs. Why was _he_ here? He was planning on meeting Lestrade at Scotland Yard to work on some new cases that were vaguely interesting. Nothing was borderline as fun as when his pal Moriarty was still around. Things weren’t so dull then. He had John and his cases and a life. Now, John had his own priorities, like Mary and his unborn daughter and his work. He missed having his partner to run off with on cases. It just wasn’t the same anymore. He sighed. No use moping around like a kicked puppy while everyone else was moving on with life.

His train of thought was cut short when Mycroft stepped through the door. He was accompanied with the person, even though he did not yet know this, would turn his life around.

Agent Scott was a fairly short woman, about 5’3’’ who was very thin. Her skin was a sun-kissed beige and her cheeks were tinted rose. She had deep hazel eyes and mid-length chestnut brown hair which was pulled back into a messy bun on her head. Black seemed to be her favourite colour, as she donned a plain black top with black skinny jeans and trainers with white trim to pull off the look. Sherlock eyed her up and down trying to process as much information as he could about her.

“Ah, brother dear. This is Agent Scott. She’ll be in charge of your safety and wellbeing for the week.” Mycroft introduced the short woman as she extended a hand to Sherlock, smiling.

“Annabelle.” She said. “Although my friends just call me Anna.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed in confusion. _This_ was the notorious Agent Scott? The one who was Mycroft’s prized minion, the Agent Scott who was MI6’s best shot and secret agent. The one who'd survived numerous missions that would prove fatal for any other person who took the job, or so he'd heard.

But she seemed so _normal._

He snapped out of his daze and shook the hand that was extended in front of him.

“Oh, erm, yes hello.” He tried to steady his voice but he knew he sounded pathetic.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Holmes.” She said.

“Sherlock, please.” He replied, still trying to deduce her. She proved a difficult task for him.

_Mid-twenties, perhaps 26/7. No pets, lives alone. She’s been working for Mycroft for over 8 years now, so that means she started her job when she was quite young, maybe 16/7. She must be exceedingly good at it then, because Mycroft isn’t one to hire inexperienced minors. She’s unattached, has been for a while. She’s frighteningly thin, maybe she has a disorder? She isn’t a habitual smoker, but has the odd cigarette now and then. She has a therapist who thinks she’s too lonely and needs a flatmate or something like that, but she doesn’t seem socially awkward, in fact she seems very accustomed to making new acquaintances._

“Well, I have a meeting I must attend in about half an hour, so I better be off. Do try and be a welcoming host, Sherlock.” Said Mycroft, who promptly turned on his heels and walked out, leaving an awkward silence between the two new flatmates.

“I think I’m going to unpack, then.” Said Anna, her voice breaking the silence.

Sherlock nodded, grateful for this opportunity to get out of this painfully awkward situation. He decided maybe he shouldn’t go off to NSY just yet. He made for his laptop and sat on the settee trying to focus on the report of an experiment, but he couldn’t clear _her_ out of his thoughts. Why had she proved such a difficulty to deduce? He got up and stood at the window and tried deducing a woman sitting at a table outside a coffee shop.

_Divorced, 30s, one small golden retriever, works as a nurse, expecting company, but it’s someone she shouldn’t be seen with so she’s very careful of where she’s meeting them._

So there was nothing wrong with him. He was fine. It was her. Why though? He shook it off, trying not to think about it, and went to fish his lighter and smokes out of his pocket.

Well he would have, if they were still there.

Where the hell had they gone? He’d only just put them there. He turned around and flinched when he saw Anna sitting in the doorway playing around with _his_ lighter, creating a flame and then blowing it out repetitively. How did she even get in the room without making a sound, let alone pickpocket him in  the space of 10 minutes since she left the room? She looked up and met with Sherlock’s smouldering gaze which seemed to burn through her.

“Problem?” She asked nonchalantly.

“Give it back.” He said.

She smiled deviously. “Not a chance.”

Sherlock wandered over to his hiding place behind the settee for his spares, but after rooting around for a while he realised she had them too. He checked under the skull, in his drawers and in the bathroom cabinet. Gone. Every last milligram of substances, every pack of cigarettes.

 “It only took me about 4 minutes to find all your stashes. Really, you should find better hiding places. And you’re not getting them back anytime soon, just to save you the time asking me.”

“I said, give me it back, Anna. All of it.” He growled

“Don’t try and be threating, Sherlock. It doesn’t suit you. And besides, I’m doing you a favour, not letting you ruin your life.”

“Bit hypocritical, you telling me to stop.” He retorted. He didn’t mean to hurt her but the words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. Her triumphant smile faltered and she looked hurt and she opened her mouth to speak, before Sherlock carried on. “I know you’re a user, you have been for a while, I know you’ve accidentally over-dosed a couple of times- _or was it accidental_? You’ve also got a reckless history with these sort of things and you probably know how it feels when you need a smoke, so I’ll ask again _nicely-_ give me my things back, now.”

Anna stood up from her seat in the doorway and walked over, her gaze full of emotion. Sherlock half expected a punch to his face and readied himself for it. Instead, she moved over towards him, and whispered eerily calmly to him.

 

“I also know how it feels to watch someone- a good person, a _strong_ person- tear their life apart cause of these bloody things.” She said, before leaving, still clutching the lighter and cigarette box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock you're so mean dude :c  
> Hope you enjoyed :)  
> I'll try and work on chapters 3 and 4 and get them up tomorrow morning. Hopefully they'll be longer then the other two.  
> See you then!


	3. House of memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock seeks advice about his hellish roomate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Named the chapter after my favourite p!atd song :D
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock huffed sulkily and grabbed his coat before leaving. It wasn’t until he got into the cab when he realised he didn’t quite know exactly where he was going. The first place that came to mind was John and Mary’s house.

When he arrived, John answered a door to a particularly moody Sherlock. He mumbled greetings and flopped onto the couch in the living room in a sulk. Mary looked concerned at him. _What’s up with him today?_ She mouthed to John, who shrugged in reply.

“Mycroft told me you have a new room-mate. What’s he like?” John said, tactfully avoiding asking why on earth Sherlock had turned up to their house at 7pm on a Saturday evening and was in a stroppy mood. Sherlock groaned in reply.

“She, John. It’s a She, not a He. And I hate her.” He moaned, sounding like an annoyed little child complaining to his parents.

“Well, _she_ can’t be all that bad. What could she have done to make you this angry?”

“She found it all! All of it. In under 5 minutes of arriving, John. And then she refused to give it back!”

“Okay, then what? Wait, let me guess. You made some deductions about her and she ran off crying?”

“No.” Sherlock lied. John raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Well, she didn’t run off crying.” He admitted.

“Sherlock!” Said John. “You can’t just do that. You’ve got to co-operate for god’s sake. Go home and apologise and try and work round it. Buy her dinner or something, women like that sort of stuff.”

Sherlock was very annoyed at this. “Oh, so you haven’t even met her and you’re taking her side. Thanks for nothing.” He yelled before he slammed the front door behind him. John and his wife exchanged a knowing look. This was going to be one very long week.

Sherlock walked back into the flat, still sulking, to the smell of something good being cooked. He glanced in the kitchen to see Anna, facing away from him. She was sniffling and she didn’t turn to look at Sherlock when he walked towards her. In the oven was a baking tray full of lasagne. Sherlock didn’t realise how hungry he was until he smelt the lasagne being cooked. He cleared his throat and Anna raised a hand to her cheeks to wipe tear tracks off them. She turned to face him.

“I- er… I made lasagne, for dinner I mean. Just in case you were hungry. Mycroft’s assistant dropped by earlier with some groceries.” She said.

“Oh… right- yeah that’s okay.” Sherlock muttered looking around. He shrugged off his coat and sat on the sofa.

A couple minutes later, she brought two platefuls of steaming hot lasagne to the table. It looked delicious and Sherlock was finished eating in minutes. They sat in silence for a bit before Sherlock turned off the T.V and turned to face her.

“I’m sorry, truly I am. I shouldn’t have said all that, I was just angry that you took my things.” Sherlock said at last.

“No need to be sorry. It’s not like you told me a lie.” She said in reply. “It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

Sherlock’s mind was still brimming with question marks about her. He wanted to know more about her and the curiosity was killing him. It must’ve been obvious, as she looked at him and said:

“Okay, you’ve got questions.”

“One or two, maybe.” He replied vaguely.

“Go on then, I’m all ears.” She said.

“I don’t know. There’s something about you- usually I can deduce another person in one glance but I couldn’t get much from you. I was wondering if you could help fill in the blanks?” He asked hopefully.

“Sure. Why not? What do you want to know?”

“Can you just tell me about yourself? From the start, if you will.” He said.

Anna inhaled deeply.

“I don’t know much about my parents. They died when I was really young. I grew up in a town not far from here. I lived in an orphanage for most of my life, it was horrible. All the other kids were pretty damn stupid; I was always seen as a smarty-pants I guess. I never really got into trouble, until I was about 16. We lived in a really dodgy area, and I started smoking as a distraction to everything happening around me. It was all alright until one time I got cornered by some guys one night. They were both the same age as me, but physically they looked stronger. They underestimated me though, because I beat them bloody in a matter of about 30 seconds. I thought nothing more of it, some guys wanted to jump me so I taught them a lesson. That was until the next day, when a black car turned up while I was walking home from school and whisked me away. Turns out, your brother saw the fight on CCTV. He wanted to offer me training, said I had potential of sorts. I kindly declined his offer, so naturally, being Mycroft, he forced me into training. At first I didn’t like it. I was the smallest out of everyone and got picked on a lot, but that soon changed after I proved to be more than a little college girl. I was a crack shot, an excellent hand to hand combat opponent and I could pull off being a double agent amazingly well for my age. Not before long, I was sent running around on missions all over the place. Some were easy, some were… not so much. A couple went wrong, I ended up getting abducted by the enemies many times abroad. Mostly, it took Mycroft a day or two to find me, other times it took weeks, sometimes months. On one of my latest missions, I was caught passing on information in Russia in an undercover bunker, and it took Mycroft and his team several months to find me, cause I was imprisoned underground in an unknown base.” She paused and took in a shaky breath, and Sherlock could see the broken memories that she reminisced on. She reminded him of himself, when he was in Serbia. But he never was really in trouble for long, a month or two at most for each part of Moriarty’s criminal web he had to dismantle. If those two months were hell on earth, imagine it for another five. He shuddered at the thought.

“Anyway…the Russian mission. I guess it’s not very nice to find out you’ve been spied on for the good part of a year, so naturally they weren’t very pleased to find out. It was there I was greeted by an old _friend,_ of yours, from what I’ve heard.” She continued.

“Oh? Who might that be?” Sherlock asked, intrigued.

 Anna looked up at him, her eyes full of fear.

 

“ ** _He was James Moriarty_**.”


End file.
